


a few drops of energon

by prowlish



Category: The Transformers (IDW Generation One)
Genre: Alcohol, Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Gender Changes, Amica Endurae, Angst, Cuddling & Snuggling, Dancing, Desk Sex, Feel-good, Fingerfucking, First Kiss, Flirting, Fluff, Frottage, Fun, Gen, Gender-Neutral Pronouns, Grief/Mourning, Humor, Hurt/Comfort, Introspection, M/M, Meet-Cute, Oral Sex, Other, Past Relationship(s), Platonic Cuddling, Platonic Relationships, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Post-Coital Cuddling, Pre-War, Restraints, Reunions, Self-Indulgent, Silly, Sleepy Cuddles, Sticky Sexual Interfacing
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-08-27
Updated: 2018-07-16
Packaged: 2018-08-11 07:44:16
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 11
Words: 9,331
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7882627
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/prowlish/pseuds/prowlish
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A collection of little tidbit fics.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. 8/24/2016

**Author's Note:**

> I had trouble focusing on wips but wanted to get SOME writing flowing, so I wrote little "micro-fics". Just quick, unedited bites of fic. I figured I had enough of them to post now! :')

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prowl, Drift & Rodimus

[1] Prowl

 

Prowl’s thoughts wander; they were doing that more often these days. Tonight he was content to let them, rather than forcing them back into sharp focus. Despite how much their planet had changed, Iacon nights still smelled sweetly, and he let his doorwings flick in the cool breeze. 

 

Staring wistfully at the stars? It would seem a near romantic notion, but in reality he was just getting some space from the five that wanted him to be the sixth. 

 

Could he? For now, he was -- using an invaluable tool, an asset. But that wasn’t mutual; they welcomed him, they  _ liked _ him. They could see into his mind, and know that he was just using this advantage while he could, and yet they still wanted him anyway.

 

Fancy that.

  
  


[2] Drift & Rodimus

 

“Drift? You okay?” Drift as surprised as Rodimus to find that he was at the mech’s door. He’d been walking, walking, walking… not paying attention with the mind, but perhaps with the spark. Drift offered his friend a smile, but he had to wonder how it looked on his lips, considering Rodimus didn’t look much assuaged. 

 

He decided to give up the brave face. 

 

Shoulders slumping, he closed the small distance between them in a single step and leaned against Rodimus, face pressing into his neck. Rodimus bore his weight with no complaints, arms slipping around Drift’s frame, but his EM field still flickered with concern. “Drift?”

 

Drift sighed, clinging on to the other mech. He was so tired, but they were finally back home. That mattered, right? Sure -- it mattered. He hummed. “Just tired,” he said softly, muffled against the mech’s neck cables. 

 

Rodimus didn’t press, but he did gently guide Drift back to a comfortable berth, a familiar thing. And there was no place he’d get a better recharge than curled together with Rodimus.

 

_ Home, finally -- home. _


	2. 8/25/2016

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Drift & Wing, Pharma, Skids & Nautica

[1] Drift/Wing (non-canon pronouns)

 

“You left this behind.”

 

The two of them were in a booth together -- where didn’t matter, just some corner of the galaxy, somewhere together, a warm booth in a place that served energon. All of the  _ “I thought you were dead” _ conversation was behind them, and Drift was happy just to sit with Wing.

 

They looked down and -- Primus above -- glinting in the palm of Wing’s hand was a Decepticon badge.  _ Their _ Decepticon badge, apparently. They looked up at Wing, speechless.

 

She laughed. “I thought it was symbolism. Or did you just forget?”

 

Drift was slow to respond; gods, they’d missed her laugh! Was there a more joyful sound in the universe? They reset their vocalizer. “Nah, it was symbolism.  _ Clumsy _ symbolism,” they muttered into their glass.

 

Wing tilted her helm. “Really?” she said. “I just thought it was direct -- like you.”

 

Drift flushed. “You give me too much credit.”

 

“Not at all,” Win hummed, closing her fingers around the badge and leaning her helm against Drift’s. “I know what they’re made from.”

 

Drift remained quiet, but their free hand rested over their chestplate. Wing’s hand soon covered it. A piece of their spark, left on Theophany, left behind with Wing. That was it, wasn’t it? Literally and figuratively.

 

And now, they thought -- they were made whole again. Smiling, Drift squeezed Wing’s hand and cozied up more to her side.

  
  


[2] Pharma

 

It had become almost too easy. ‘Selection’, he called it in his mind. A word so innocuous it wouldn’t cause much of a stir in datawork, though he was of course never foolish enough to write anything about it down.

 

It was easy. A mental notation. A bookmark that said:  _ This one’s for Tarn. _ In fact, he felt more surprise at the lack of persistence in  _ “what have I become?” _ thought tangents; he’d left those far behind.

 

Now it was just the next one, and the next, and the next, until a pattern made itself clear: soon supply could not meet demand, not if he were to keep his role in this a secret. So he’d formulated a plan -- nothing short of genius, really -- and he executed it flawlessly, except for… one little snag. But it was no mater. He could wait it out.

 

Wait it out.

 

Soon…

 

He only felt worried when suddenly, it was Ratchet on the other side of the glass.  _ Doubt? Worry? -- anger! Why should  _ Ratchet _ worry him! _

 

He could prove once and for all that he was better. What else could make his victory complete? And then…

 

And then he would be free.

  
  


[3] Skids

 

The only thing which distracted him was the soft mesh of Nautica’s EM field with his own. She was worried again; even if he couldn’t feel it, it was written all over her face. Skids offered a smile, knowing it had to look every bit as exhausted as he felt. Frag, was he tired. In general, yes, they all were -- millions of years of  _ life _ would do that, nevermind a war.

 

But lately he’d been even more so, like his spark was running out of charge, like his joints were just seizing and quitting. It all felt explicable from current events -- the signal, travel to the Necroworld, being shot down, hunted by the DJD… and yet it felt deeper. 

 

He’d reached a new level of internal restlessness and discomfort in the last few weeks.

 

“What’s bothering you?” Nautica asked softly, bringing him back to the present.

 

Skids shrugged. What could he say? Nautica hummed, looping her arm through his. She didn’t press and she didn’t go anywhere, and Skids was grateful for both. “I think… it’s something I don’t remember,” he finally murmured.

 

Nautica scooted closer to him; the worried chord in her field twanged brighter. “Whatever it is, it’ll be okay,” she said softly.

 

“Yeah,” he murmured, allowing himself to believe the comforting words.  “I’m sure it will be.”


	3. 9/3/2016

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> nsfw edition
> 
> Drift/Ratchet, Prowl/Springer

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> the dratchet I found in my little working notebook just hanging out on a page, so... I just put today's date bc that's when I did the second one lol

[1] Drift/Ratchet

"Drift..." Ratchet huffed. Drift smiled above him. The room was dim, the air was sweet with incense that Ratchet had rolled is optics at but not spoken against, and -- gulping air through his parted lips -- Drift could taste the tang of their charged EM fields.

He loved this. He loved that he could have Ratchet undone beneath him by grinding their exposed equipment together and massaging the hands entwined with his own.

Drift smiled, and he only paused in his motions to chase the murmur of his name against Ratchet's lips.

 

[2] Prowl/Springer

It was always a good sign when Prowl's doorwings trembled. Springer couldn't resist -- he slid his palms up Prowl's back and lightly teased the underside of the panels. Prowl huffed, turning to glare over his shoulder, surely, until Springer rocked forward again, grinding the head of his spike against the top of Prowl's valve. Prowl bowed his helm instead, his intake cycles becoming shaky.

Springer continued to play with the twitching panels. 

"Springer -- " Prowl gasped.

Springer grinned, still thrusting into Prowl's hot, sweet valve as he toyed with them. "What?"

But his thumbs just barely rolled over the corresponding joints on Prowl's back, and he melted into his desk, shivering. The only thing that escaped his lips was a moan.

Good. Very good.


	4. 10/27/2016

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Drift & Megatron, Drift/Wing

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> the second one is nsfw and also a gift for ky
> 
> both of these fics feature alt pronouns so if that's not your thing -- catch ya next time.

[1] Drift & Megatron

In the dim and quiet room, crowded together on a small berth, Drift could find it easy to doze atop Megatron, their mind on the dozens of times they'd spent just like this back in Rodion, before the war. Peaceful. Warm. Quiet. The pulse of a powerful spark as lulling and comforting now as it could be energizing at other times.

Megatron hummed, the sound vibrating through her thick chestplate. Drift lifted their helm to peer up, and Megatron's hand paused in its gentle stroking down their backstruts.

"What?" they asked.

Megatron smiled, lifting her hand to trace the new markings down their cheek. "Just -- some things never change."

Drift chuckled, tilting their helm into her hand. "Is that a complaint?"

"Mm -- no," she replied, shifting her fingers to trace along a finial instead. At just a few strokes, Drift was purring and melting back against Megatron's front. "But sometimes I wonder..."

"Hmm...?" They didn't really care much, so long as she kept up that touch. 

It hung in the air for several moments. Finally, Megatron sighed. "I just wasn't expecting this again..."

But it was too late. Drift was faraway in recharge and the only thing they registered was Megatron gathering them closer into her embrace.

 

[2] Drift/Wing [nsfw]

"Drift!" she gasped. It was worth it to let go that little bit, to watch the shiver of sensation ripple down their backstruts at her murmur, but mostly because Drift was that damn talented with their mouth.

Eventually Wing arched back again, losing her sight of Drift between her legs, but in turn giving them _more_ room down there, and that was even better. Their glossa caressed her valve with unmistakeable care and adoration, finding every eager node and spurring her charge and her pleasure ever higher.

She murmured Drift's name again, arching her backstruts as they kissed her anterior node, their hands squeezing at her thighs in some unheard rhythm that she found herself trying to move her hips to.

Overload was like a bright, bubbling wave, stealing the air from Wing's intakes as she trembled and arched in pleasure. It could have been moments or hours for her to come down from that, she could hardly be sure, but when she focused her optics again Drift was there.

They grinned and kissed the tip of her nose. Wing chuckled. "You accuse _me_ of sappiness," she remarked.

"Am I ever wrong?" Drift retorted. 

Wing frowned at them. "No, but -- "

Drift smirked, leaning forward to rest more of their weight atop her. "No buts!" they purred, before sweeping her into a kiss again.


	5. 11/30/2016

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> These weren't written today, but I'm posting them today. :P One was a self soothe from a few weeks ago, the other was a 'feed the id' sort of situation. One uses alt pronouns for Drift & Megatron, the other is NSFW Driftrod. :)

[1] Drift/Megatron

 

Megatron didn’t know why Drift just wouldn’t go to recharge. It was clear how exhausted they were, leaning against her frame, their optics dimming and plating giving off a fine tremble, and yet they fought for consciousness -- when their helm dipped forward, they jerked it back upright, blinking owlishly into the dim light of the barracks.

 

The fourth time it happened, Megatron let out a soft  _ chuff _ from her vents, earning a pair of yellow optics peering up at her, too tired to be defensive, to even scowl. “What?”

 

“What?” she repeated, looking up from her reading. “Why are you struggling to stay awake? You can sleep here, you know. I don’t have to go back to the mines for another day or two.”

 

Drift made a face. “I know,” they murmured. 

 

“So recharge, then,” Megatron concluded. “You know you’re safe here, right?”

 

The face Drift pulled this time was obscured as they tilted their head down. “I know,” they replied again.

 

Frowning a little, Megatron set her datapad aside, trying to get a clear look at Drift. “What is it?” she asked. Getting an actual answer from Drift about how they were feeling was… a laborious effort. But it was worth it, when they felt like sharing.

 

“Just… feel like I’m always takin’ fuel and then recharging…” 

 

Ah. It was going to be one of those nights where she had to puzzle it out. “I offer energon to you freely,” she said. “And as I said before…” She trailed off, a different thought coming to her -- one that she found very concerning. “You know that you don’t owe me anything out of this. We are friends, Drift. Aren’t we?”

 

Drift’s helm was still bowed, but she could see them working their jaw. “Yeah,” they eventually muttered.

 

A small, warm smile spread over Megatron’s lips. “Then, I’m perfectly content with your company. There’s no hoops to jump through here.”

 

Drift grunted, but they finally lifted their helm again. “Doesn’t seem like much company if I’m always passing out,” they remarked.

 

Ah. So that was it. 

 

Sighing a little, Megatron lifted one of her arms to wrap around Drift’s shoulders, her hand resting gently at their helm. “Drift. You deserve rest… I’d rather you sleep now and spend waking time with me later, than to be miserably struggling to stay awake…” And it was clear the mech didn’t get a lot of good rest, either. If they could get one or two good nights of recharge in the barracks while she was off-shift from the mines… it was one more thing she felt she could do. A small things, but larger things started with small things.

 

She traced her fingers along one long finial on their helm, knowing how it relaxed them. Drift let a shiver run through their plating and let out a long sigh. “You sure?”

 

“Always,” she murmured. “I’ll be here, Drift. I’m not going anywhere.”

 

But Drift was already in recharge. Megatron smiled and picked up her datapad once more. 

 

 

[2] Drift/Rodimus [nsfw]

 

It wasn’t unusual to be sprawled sleepily in a berth together, but normally it was when Drift dropped by Rodimus’s habsuite to see how the captain was faring. He often had difficulty recharging, and Drift worried… but then Drift had difficulty recharging as well, so there was something in it for him, too.

Though with the way he was suddenly aware Rodimus was inching down his frame, there was more than soothing cuddles in it for him tonight. He peeked open an optic, gazing down his frame at Rodimus. The mech had frozen when Drift shifted, smirking up at him from where his chin rested on Drift’s abdominal plating. Drift arched an optic ridge.

Rodimus’s smirk spread into a grin. “What?”

“I thought we were going to recharge,” Drift teased, pushing himself up on one elbow.

Rodimus shifted his weight forward, keeping Drift’s lower half lightly pinned to the berth. “Yeah… I was helping…” His optics glittered.

Drift snorted, staying as he was. Not that he’d make any attempts to dislodge Rodimus  _ now _ ... “Helping,” he repeated.

“Mmhm.” Rodimus tilted his helm, pressing a single kiss just a breath above Drift’s pelvic plating -- a kiss that should  _ not _ have been as fragging hot as it was. Drift swallowed. He could  _ feel _ Rodimus still smiling as he trailed simple kisses all down his pelvic plating, parting Drift’s thighs to make room for him to settle between.

They weren’t strangers to this either; Drift was very easy to open his frame and arch slightly, letting a gasp slip from his lips as Rodimus’s next kiss landed squarely on the (now quite warm) panel covering his valve.

This time, Drift returned Rodimus’s smile as he let the panel fold away.

Rodimus didn’t waste any time, either; his lips instantly brushed across Drift’s valve, drawing another soft gasp from his intakes as sensation flashed through his circuits, the preceding anticipation making his plating jump with charge. “Rodimus…”

As though taking it for a cue, Rodimus quit teasing. He pressed his mouth in close, his glossa slipping between the slick folds of Drift’s valve, suffusing him with the most exquisite pleasure. His legs trembled and he began to squirm a little -- but Rodimus followed him, holding Drift tight as he lightly and teasingly kissed Drift’s anterior node.

Drift moaned softly, arching into Rodimus’s touch as he panted. One of his hands slipped down, grabbing one point of Rodimus’s helm, his grip swiftly turning into a clutch as Rodimus continued teasing that one node, sending heady waves of pleasure through Drift until he felt he could hardly stand it anymore! Overload was a point of white-hot intensity, sweeping him along and leaving him trembling and panting, his optics blurry and unfocused.

When he finally blinked and looked down, it was once more into Rodimus’s smiling face -- though he had a bit more on his face than a smile, now. “You left quite an impression,” he teased, as Drift let his hand slip away back to his own frame. 

Drift frowned and looked closer. There were very clear impressions indeed -- of his fingertips in the thin gold plating adorning Rodimus’s helm. “Oh -- ” He tried to sit up, but Rodimus gently pushed him back onto the berth with one hand.

“I was teasing you,” he said, laughing. “Besides, I’m already coming up with ways to present this ‘injury’ to Ratchet…”

Despite himself, Drift started laughing -- he was feeling too good and imagining Ratchet’s face alone was worth it. “Gotta recharge first. Unless  _ you  _ want to -- ”

Rodimus hummed, crawling back up in order to drape himself on top of Drift’s frame. “Mm… nope. Bedtime.”

Drift shuttered his optics and smiled.


	6. 1/18/2017

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> just some little things to get back in the habit

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> wow, 2017! 
> 
> today I offer:
> 
> completely self indulgent alt-pronouns MegaDrift porn [1] (this wasn't written today, but I'm posting it today so there)
> 
> post-DOTL angst with Nautica [2]

[1] 

 

"Shh," Megatron murmured, and like the contrary being they were, Drift tilted their helm back and let out a soft moan. Keeping quiet didn't exactly matter; Drift knew it, and so did Megatron... but it was still a fun game to play. A shiver rippled through their plating as she teased her thumb over their anterior node.  
  
Their other favorite game was to play was doing the opposite of Megatron's instructions.. or at least playing at it.  
  
She snorted against their neck as they squirmed. They weren't going many places; Megatron had them pinned to the wall, her strength and bulk effortlessly suspending the swordsmech. Despite their squirming, Drift had their legs hooked around Megatron's frame -- though with enough room for one of her large hands between their thighs.  
  
Her thumb still stroked that node, producing more soft whines and trembling, their helm tipping back even more as Megatron trailed kisses down their neck. Drift was done squirming aimlessly and instead rocked their hips against Megatron's hand... eager for more. But even with her fingers slick from the lubricant dripping from their valve, Megatron still teased -- stroking her fingertips between the folds of Drift's valve and rubbing their node.  
  
"Megatron..." they moaned, charge flowing freely through their EM field. The longer this went on, the harder they dug their fingertips into Megatron's shoulders... until eventually, they reached for her helm, trying to tug her up for a proper kiss.  
  
Instead, Megatron easily caught their wrists in her free hand and pinned them to the wall above their helm.  
  
A gasp burst from Drift's lips; that should be infuriating, but it was just hot, and they let their engine rev in response. At the same time, Megatron pushed two fingers into their valve, making them arch and moan and struggle against the hand pinning their wrist. They could hardly budge an inch this way and it was arousing and overwhelming, being held still while Megatron carefully worked her fingers inside of them.  
  
Their valve squeezed and stretched, making Drift's plating quiver and their EM field pulse wildly with ecstasy. They breathed her name again trying to move into it, but mostly just pinned, shivering, between Megatron and the wall.  
  
"Shh," Megatron murmured again, but this time against their lips as she finally -- finally! -- kissed them. Drift hungrily returned the kiss, and when they felt her weight shift a little, they eagerly moved their hips with the almost lazy thrusts of Megatron's hand.  
  
She squeezed their pinned wrists, drawing yet another shudder of excitement, and finally pulled back from the kiss -- though she kept her helm close. Watching.  
  
Drift didn't really have the capacity to think about that; they were panting in deep intakes of air, sharp dentae biting their lower lip as they rocked their hips, chasing an overload that was a promising flicker in their circuits. They twisted in Megatron's grasp again, crying out as pleasure overtook them and flared bright and hot through their field.  
  
They could feel an answering echo from Megatron's field, and the careful yet still arousing trace of fingertips around their entrance. Megatron finally released their wrists and they focused their optics, chuckling softly as they licked a few drops of energon off their lower lip -- bit a little too hard at the end, but that wasn't an issue.  
  
"What?" Megatron murmured.  
  
"Let's get to the berth."

 

 

[2]

 

Nautica was sure this was temporary; Ratchet had only given her Skids’ Autobrand to get her to finally let go of his grey frame. She wasn’t sure what Ratchet needed to  _ do _ at this point, Skids was long gone, but she suspected it had to do with all the worried looks Velocity had been giving her. 

 

She felt empty but her mind was filled anyway.

 

Why hadn’t she stayed with him?

 

Why hadn’t she been there?

 

Why had she waited until a life-threatening crisis to finally recite the Oath of Constancy?

 

It was too much, and yet she couldn’t stop it. Shuddering, clutching the badge close to her frame, she laid her head down against her knees, the shade from the base of what had been Skids’ holostatue shielding her gaze from sunlight she wasn’t ready to see yet.

 

It was hard to count the minutes she sat there; they were long and short and twisted into agonizing eternities, and she didn’t have time to try and consider what terrible quantum or time travelling jokes she could make out of the sensation. Her spark just wasn’t in it.

 

After some other indiscernible pocket of time, she realized someone was calling her name. Nautica lifted her helm, directing dim optics over her shoulder. “What?”

 

It was Velocity. Good Lottie, here to make sure she was okay.

 

She wasn’t okay. But that wasn’t the point of the visit, either. 

 

Velocity crouched next to her, quiet for another moment, letting her soothing EM field ripple against Nautica’s. She bit her lower lip and tried to tame it at least a little. “Aren’t you hungry?”

 

Nautica just grunted and gazed back at the grass.

 

The medic sighed. “I’m sorry,” she said softly. “I wish there was more I could do.”

 

“I know,” Nautica said. “You’re a good friend.”

 

“So are you,” Velocity insisted. Nautica hummed. “...I know grief,” she added, after a moment. “I’ll be here for you. But I also want to make sure of something…”

 

Nautica finally looked her way again. “What?”

 

“Well, I’ve heard a lot of disconcerting things towards Getaway, and…” 

 

The name opened a pit of dread and rage and hurt so wide Nautica thought she might drown. She swallowed, her hands clenching around the Autobrand in her hands. “And what?”

 

Velocity frowned. “I’m worried about you.”

 

“Why?” Nautica said, looking up where the holo-statue of Skids should have been. “Are you afraid I’ll go after him? I’m not really a fighter, you know.”

 

Sighing, her friend -- her  _ amica _ \-- laid a comforting hand on her shoulder. “I know,” she said. “But I’ve seen what grief can drive people to do.”

 

Nautica shook her head. “...I understand what you’re saying,” she said. “But you don’t have to worry about that.” Skids wouldn’t have wanted that from her; of that she was sure. 

 

Velocity slowly got to her pedes again, lingering like she had something else she wanted to say. But whatever it was, she let it go. “Are you coming back inside? The last of the time travelers are stabilizing soon.”

 

Nautica sighed, leaning her helm against the base, staring at the shined plate reading _ Skids of Nova Cronum _ . “No, I’m going to stay here just a little longer, Lottie.”


	7. 2/22/2017

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A few offerings from the past little while. One Dratchet, two MegaDrift.
> 
> All sfw, all written for certain people (myself, Lex, and deer, in order).
> 
> the MegaDrift uses alternate pronouns.
> 
> Enjoy!

[1] Megatron/Drift (self soothe)

Remarkable that Drift could feel as though the ground were too cold and hard, considering they stayed in the streets more often than not. But waiting was the worst. They appreciated being able to come and go with Gasket and his rag-tag group of strays, as though they were all some kind of pack of cybercats. And yet that had led them here -- unable to hunt any of them down, and not liking it. Drift didn’t always hate being alone, but there were nights they couldn’t tolerate it.

 

Like tonight.

 

And then they’d done the fool thing of calling Megatron. 

 

She’d answered, she’d said she would meet them, but it felt like ages already that Drift had been sitting on the stoop of a cafe. _ (Their cafe.) _ Yet it felt like too much to hope for, that Megatron would show up in the middle of the night.

 

Why had they called her? Was it simply because Megatron was the only other mechanism they could possibly call friend? 

 

Had it been Megatron they’d really wanted to see all along?

 

Frag,  _ that _ was stupid. Drift groaned and laid their helm against their knees. No, it was just because Megatron was probably the only one fool enough to actually follow through on the stupid request.  _ (Except she’s not here.) _

 

And then they felt a hand on their shoulder and a familiar voice, touched with concern: “Drift?”

 

Drift lifted their helm, peering into Megatron’s face and hating and loving and fearing the bubbly elation in their spark at the mere sight of her. “Hey,” Drift murmured.

 

“Are you okay?”

 

Drift shrugged a shoulder. “Yeah.”  _ (No.) _

 

Megatron frowned and tilted her helm, clearly disbelieving. “I was worried.”

 

Sighing, Drift ran a hand over their helm, tugging at a cheekguard. “Ah… yeah. Sorry. I didn’t realize the hour when I called. My chronometer still isn’t running the best.”

 

Megatron shook her helm. “It’s of no issue,” she replied. “I just wanted to be sure you were okay.”

 

_ (I am now.) _ Drift shoved the thought away. “Mm… I just couldn’t find Gasket. Was kinda -- bored.”

 

Megatron arched an optic ridge. “Bored,” she repeated.

 

“That’s what I said.”  _ (Not necessarily what was meant.) _ But Megatron knew that all too well, having done this dance with them on more than one occasion. 

 

“So not lonely.”

 

Drift scoffed, rolling their golden optics. It brought another half-smile to Megatron’s lips.

 

“Either way, it’s a cold night. You should come back with me -- it’s at least another four hours until our cafe opens.”

 

There was that warm pulse again.  _ Our cafe. _ Drift smiled in return -- it was just a ghost of a thing, gone in an instant, but enough that they saw Megatron’s brighten a little more. “Fine,” they murmured. 

 

When Megatron offered a hand, they took it, and they didn’t bother to let it go all the way back to the barracks.

 

 

[2] Megatron/Drift (for Lex)

Despite how few of them there were and the relatively limited spaces for them to go, it was some time before Megatron saw Drift alone. Almost as if their compatriots were worried that, unchaperoned, two ex-Decepticons might forget how to be Autobots. Maybe that was unfair; it was likely _ her t _ hey were worried about, but the thought amused Megatron anyway.

And still, seeing them -- even from afar -- was breathtaking. Drift had always been beautiful, whether in the way they'd shone despite the worst the Dead End gave them, or the dangerous, predatory beauty that had gleamed about them as Deadlock. She'd even seen them briefly after their defection, or in stills and holos around the  _ Lost Light's  _ databanks -- all generous curves and sleek points.

Seeing them up close now was even more striking. The stills didn't do Drift justice, the way they stepped towards Megatron with an airy grace that was so unlike the guarded stalking or swagger she'd seen in them before that if she didn’t know them so well she might've thought this Drift a different mechanism altogether.

As it was, Megatron sat still and watched as Drift approached her, a look on their face that... wasn't a smile but had the potential to be. A very open look.

If she wasn't careful, she'd start idly composing stanzas like this! That was far more romantic than she really was. 

Drift arched an optic ridge -- they must have read some part of her thoughts on her face. "What?"

Megatron shook her helm. "Nothing," she said. "Just thinking about how much you've changed."

Drift's gaze slid pointedly to her chest, still proudly displaying an Autobot sigil. "I'm not the only one."

Megatron snorted softly. "I suppose you're right."

Incredibly, they were within her reach; she didn't quite know what to do with that display of confidence -- or trust -- except to show it wasn't misplaced. Slowly, she reached a hand out, waiting for any signal to back off. She received none, and eventually let her hand cup Drift's cheek. Her thumb carefully traced the length of the red mark on their cheek, from their optic and down to their jaw.

It was the thing that had caught her attention the most. Familiar, in a way. And yet... "I assume Ratchet filled you in on Dai Atlas' death..." The mech had borne similar facial markings.

There was the smile. "Yes, but that's not the only part of my past I chose to reflect."

So there it was -- simple yet profound. Megatron smiled, though hesitatingly. "I see... and I thought I was simply being vain."

Drift laughed softly, turning their helm into her hand and encouraging more of her gentle touches. "Why wouldn't I? I defected, but I don't forget  _ everything _ ..."

Megatron hummed. She wasn't sure she should be diving into those thoughts right now, not with the DJD at the door. But it was still nice to hear, that Drift thought well enough to include an homage to their shared past folded into a tribute to Dai Atlas.

"I'm honored," she murmured instead, and leaned forward to gently press her lips to the top of Drift's helm.  


 

[3] Dratchet (for deer)

There was pouting -- that is, normal, if juvenile, petulance -- and then there was Drift. If it weren’t for the finials poking out of the steaming solvent, Ratchet might have thought he’d actually elected to escape. But no, there he was, his optics just barely above water as he stared balefully at Ratchet. 

Frag’s sake.

Ratchet put his hands on his hips and sighed. “Really?” he said. Drift blew air out of his mouth, causing bubbles to ripple on the surface of the bath. “Drift.”

“What?”

“You’re acting like a child.” Drift scoffed, but said nothing. Ratchet rolled his optics as he stepped closer. “What do you have against cleaning up, anyway? You kept yourself in pretty good shape on the Lost Light.”

Drift shrugged, slopping solvent against the side of the tub. Then he pursed his lips again. “You told me I smelled.”

“You do smell,” Ratchet said dryly. 

At that, Drift huffed and retreated back how he’d been, optics shuttered this time. Ratchet just shook his helm. Whatever was going on with Drift, he wasn’t sure he had the energy to figure it out right now. But he could try something else… 

Reaching out, he brushed his fingers along one of the finials poking out of the warm solvent. Drift’s optics fluttered as though to open, but as soon as Ratchet started petting and stroking, he just sighed and leaned his helm into Ratchet’s hand.

So he really was just pouting. Ratchet knew Drift well enough to know that if he was actually holding a grudge about something, he’d be way more stubborn about it. 

After a few moments, when the room felt still and quiet and heavy with something Ratchet couldn’t quite name, Drift sighed and straightened up, stretching his backstruts a little. Ratchet drew his hand back, an optic ridge quirked. “You ready to stop pouting?”

Drift hummed, peering at Ratchet out of the corner of his optics. “Sure… just…”

“What now?” Ratchet sighed. 

Drift grinned, and before Ratchet could quite react to what happened, Drift’s arms flew up from the tub, splashing solvent over the edges as he grabbed Ratchet’s shoulders and pulled him headlong into the solvent.

Ratchet flailed and cursed, sloshing even more solvent onto the floors of the rented room, and when he surfaced it was to near hysterical laughter from Drift. “What gives!” he snarled. 

Calming his laughter into a simple smile, Drift wound his legs around Ratchet’s frame and pulled him close. “The solvent was getting cold,” he murmured.

That was a bold-faced lie, but somehow, Ratchet suddenly didn’t care.


	8. 6/11/2017

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> SwinBlurr, 2 x DriftRod

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A few stories I wrote for friends on bum days. Aside from some suggestiveness here or there, it's all cute sfw nonsense lol. 
> 
> It's currently 1:35 am so nothing here is edited at all. But then, when is it ever...? heh.

[1] SwinBlurr

 

Swindle could only consider himself lucky; instead of a crippling ache, the feeling in his helm was a slight discomfort that made him feel extremely sleep-addled and not quite hungover. Sunlight wasn’t very pleasant, but a different filter in his optics helped that. All in all, nothing a little coolant wouldn’t fix.

 

He was sure his fellow Combaticons would not be faring as well. It wasn’t that Swindle didn’t like to indulge, or over-indulge, but… he’d been too focused on talking rather than drinking.

 

He smiled a little as he rounded the corner and saw Maccadam’s dark storefront. He knew just where he planned to get that coolant.

 

Swindle circled around to let himself in the back door. Theoretically, for when he’d been doing business… but somehow he didn’t think Blurr would mind.

 

And while he expected Blurr to be there, he was expecting to see the mech behind the bar. He was, instead, standing out on the floor, gazing around -- he hadn’t seemed to notice Swindle yet.

 

Not that Swindle blamed him. The place was a wreck. Not a wreck in a “bar fight destroyed everything” way, but just a mess. The sort that happened when his whole gestalt hit the same bar and  _ over-indulged _ .

 

Geez.

 

“Uh -- ” Blurr jumped, and Swindle held his hands up placatingly. “Sorry. I mean, for all of this. Didn’t mean to scare you, also didn’t know how much of a mess they left behind.”

 

Blurr had relaxed upon recognizing him, and shrugged at his words. “I’ve seen worse.”

 

“That’s unfortunate.”

 

Blurr snorted. “Drunk mechs aren’t the most self-aware. I knew that when I opened the bar.” He turned, beginning to pull up an overturned table. Swindle trotted forward to help; despite the fact that  _ he’d _ behaved, he still felt responsible, even in that he hadn’t noticed when they’d left Maccadam’s the previous night. 

 

Not the most self-aware indeed.

 

Blurr gave him a considering look. “So what are you doing here this early, then?”

 

It was Swindle’s turn to shrug. “I’m not as hungover as my friends will be, but I could still use some coolant.”

 

Blurr hummed, though he still seemed thoughtful. “There are daytime establishments that sell coolant,” he replied. 

 

Swindle shrugged again as he began uprighting the few chairs that were knocked over. “Yeah, but I was hoping you’d be here. I was enjoying our conversation last night.”

 

Here, Blurr laughed, stray glasses held delicately in his hands. 

 

“What?”

 

“Our conversation,” he replied. He tilted his helm, giving Swindle something of a sly look. “ _ I _ thought you were flirting with me.”

 

Swindle blinked, his hands still idly grasping the back of a chair. Then he grinned, feeling a pleasant warmth upon his features. “Thought?” he asked. “Or hoped?”

 

He watched Blurr’s smile turn into a grin to match his own. “Maybe a little of both.”

 

Swindle laughed. “That’s good to know,” he said, feeling a warm, excited feeling bubble through his spark. 

 

Blurr emptied his hands and approached him. “It sure is,” he murmured, optics glittering as he leaned in and gently captured Swindle’s lips in a soft kiss.

 

That bubbly feeling spilled through his whole frame and Swindle smiled again into the kiss. No coolant at all, but he could swear anything plaguing his frame had evaporated in just this instant.

 

 

[2] DriftRod #1

 

“You know,” Drift said, “when you said you were going to catch me up on everything I’d missed, I hadn’t quite envisioned…”

 

He seemed at a loss to describe the scene before him, which was unusual; it was plain to see that it was a party. One that was well underway, with music thumping and bots dancing. 

 

Rodimus laughed and clapped him on the shoulder. “It’s a party, Drift,” he said, quite unnecessarily. “We had one, and you missed it. So, it counts. Besides, we just got the ship back, of course we should party!”

 

Well, Drift couldn’t exactly argue with that. Still, even as he followed Rodimus, one arm wound around the mech’s elbow, to the bar… he shook his helm. “You know, Ratchet is the one who’s big on parties.”

 

Rodimus arched an optic ridge. “Yeah, he’s invited too, but you aren’t fooling me,” he teased.

 

Drift grinned. “Fooling you?”

 

“You like having fun! You can’t pull Stoic Swordsmech scrap with me!”

 

Drift just chuckled softly, saying nothing in response to this, simply content at the mech’s side as he acquired a couple of drinks for them. They stayed where they were, watching the crowd and sipping slowly at their drinks. “This is nice,” he finally admitted, not looking away even though he saw Rodimus directing his gaze back his way. “I missed it.”

 

When he did finally look, Drift was met with a -- wistful? -- smile. He returned it sheepishly. “What?”

 

Rodimus shook his helm. “Nothing,” he said.

 

Drift snorted. “Don’t  _ nothing _ me,” he said, elbowing the mech. “Rodimus…”

 

But Rodimus just plucked his empty glass out of his hand and returned it to the bar with his own. “C’mon.”

 

“C’mon  _ what _ ?”

 

“Let’s dance!”

 

Drift almost dug his heels in.  _ Almost _ . It was a clear dodge and he knew it, but… he let Rodimus drag him off to the dance floor anyway. His captain didn’t face him again until they were well concealed by the crowd of slightly tipsy to slightly  _ smashed _ bots. 

 

Drift just watched him, not sure what to make of this spurt of activity… and Rodimus took advantage of it. He pulled Drift forward by his wrists, and placed a gentle kiss on his lips.

 

Drift blinked, feeling his spark inflate with some kind of warm, tingling feeling. 

 

“What was that for?” he asked as Rodimus drew away, though there was still a smile on his lips.

 

Rodimus laughed. “Welcome home,” he said. But he pulled Drift close again as he actually  _ did _ start dancing this time. “Now show me that fancy footwork, sword-boy.”

 

Drift grinned. It was good to be home.

 

 

[3] DriftRod #2

 

Rodimus grinned as soon as he walked into the cafe; he’d spotted the slope of a pair of white finials, and he wouldn’t soon forget who they belonged to. As if he’d forget nearly tripping over a gorgeous mech in a crowded street, only to have said mech compliment his aura.

 

His  _ aura _ . You didn’t hear that one every day. But a compliment was a compliment, and coming from a mech that looked like  _ that _ …

 

It was sheer chance that he was here. Or maybe it was fate, or something. Maybe aura-mech had something to say for that, too… although he’d have to ask first. 

 

With no further hesitation, Rodimus approached the mech -- studiously reading a datapad as one hand played with his glass of energon -- and sat in the seat across from him. The mech before him blinked, looked up -- his lips parted in surprise as undeniable recognition flickered in his optics.

 

Rodimus grinned again. “What a lovely aura,” he teased.

 

The mech raised an optic ridge, a smile flirting at the corners of his lips. He let the datapad settle on the table, both hands wrapping around his glass as he considered Rodimus. “You’re just saying that,” he said -- more of a friendly jab than an accusation.

 

Rodimus shrugged. “Were you?”

 

A tilt of his helm in another thoughtful silence. “No,” he finally said.

 

Snorting, Rodimus leaned his elbows on the table. “Then what’s all that about?”

 

The mech shook his helm. “Shouldn’t I get to ask a question in exchange?” he asked.

 

“Like what?”

 

“Well, for starters… are you following me?”

 

Rodimus laughed. “No. I come here occasionally, and here you were. What would you call that? Destiny?”

 

A little burst of triumph invigorated Rodimus’s spark at the sight of the smile spreading across the other mech’s lips and the mirth dancing in his optics. “I’d call it serendipitous, at the least.” 

 

“Serendipitous,” Rodimus repeated. “That’s a ten shanix word.” When the other mech only chuckled, he just kept on. “What’s your name, anyway?”

 

“Drift.” There was little hesitation in the answer. “And you?”

 

“Rodimus.”

 

Drift nodded his helm. “Well met.”

 

_ Well met. _ Primus. Rodimus bit his lip, amused, but scarcely took his gaze away from Drift. “So, this aura-reading thing.”

 

“Yes?” Drift said, taking a sip of his energon finally.

 

“...What all are you gleaning from it? Just pretty colors that you compliment strangers on, or?”

 

Drift grinned a little, and Rodimus admittedly didn’t know him at all, but he could swear that was a flash of  _ mischief _ he’d just seen. “Not entirely.”

 

Rodimus leaned in over the table a little more, barely noticing their pedes brushing together, his own optics gleaming to match. “So what are you seeing now?”

 

Drift tilted his helm once more, putting his glass aside and leaning in just slightly as well. The way his pede moved against Rodimus’s seemed more deliberate, but if he were honest, Rodimus couldn’t be bothered to pay attention to anything except this mech’s lovely features.

 

“I’m seeing… how badly you want to invite me back to your place.” That was a smirk, not a smile on Drift’s features, and wow he was into  _ that _ .

 

Rodimus didn’t miss a beat, though. “Hmm… what if I was thinking about  _ your _ place?”

 

The little smirk on Drift’s features opened up into another broad smile, just short of another laugh. “Admittedly, that was some guesswork.”

 

“Sounded more like wishful thinking.”

 

Drift hummed. “Maybe,” he conceded. “And if it is?”

 

Rodimus stood slowly and held his hand out. “Then you’re lucky. I specialize in wish fulfillment.”

 

That  _ did _ earn him another laugh, and he felt that spark of triumph in his core again as Drift took his hand.


	9. "provocateur" coda

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I moved the "coda" for [provocatuer](http://archiveofourown.org/works/11186235) over here. It felt strange having it as a second chapter when they both stand alone pretty well. I mostly wrote this follow-up bc I was having a bum week and wanted to do an indulgent thing for me. /shrug

 

“You’re later than usual,” Megatron remarked.

 

Deadlock shrugged, letting the door lock behind him before striding to meet Megatron at his berth. He  _felt_  the mech examining him closely.

 

“Long day?”

 

“Somethin’ like that.”

 

Megatron sighed, clearly not satisfied with that answer, and impatient with the way Deadlock could dance around a straight answer. “You’ve got more welds than a usual day of sparring and instructing gives.”

 

Again, Deadlock neglected to reply, instead crawling upon Megatron’s berth and settling near him.

 

“Drift.”

 

That, at least, got the mech to look up, a slight frown on his features. He never understood why Megatron made a ceremony of giving him a new name, and yet occasionally calling him by the old one. Habit? They’d spent plenty of time apart before Megatron came planetside again to incite a revolution, so he couldn’t imagine that was it.

 

A brief thought occurred to him  _(--if he’d thought about “Drift” often enough even when they’d been apart--)_  but he quickly squashed it.

 

Mostly it just seemed Megatron had wanted his attention, and was expecting a response now that he had established optic contact.

 

Deadlock pursed his lips, letting out his own soft ex-vent. “It was a weird day,” he said. And it wasn’t a lie.

 

Megatron’s frown deepened; true or not, he was still clearly not appeased. He abandoned his datapad for the moment, lifting his hand to trace a broad finger down several patches on Deadlock’s shoulder. A shiver rolled through his plating, not wholly in pain – the repair was still tender, but endurable. Gently, Megatron pulled on his arm. A clear indicator that he wanted Deadlock to move, but wasn’t going to bodily move Deadlock into his lap. (Yet.)

 

Deadlock was more than acutely aware that Megatron could simply pick him up, but that wasn’t the reason he acquiesced. As had already been established that day, this closeness with Megatron was familiar and something he enjoyed… and the warmth of the mech’s large frame along with the soft, constant vibrations of his engine would feel amazing with his healing welds.

 

For whatever reason, those were what Megatron wanted to inspect, as though he could divine what Deadlock was omitting by running his fingertips – large but gentle and precise – over each weld. There were several on his shoulder, at least where it hadn’t had to be reconstructed altogether; but Megatron hadn’t missed that, either, gently inspecting the integration of new plating. There was also the one on his waist, where Tarn had dug a hand into his side, and the tell-tale signs of quick paint-correction and dent corrections that hadn’t completely smoothed out with autorepair quiet yet that littered his pelvic plating and legs.

 

With another sigh, Megatron stilled his hands, letting his arms simply rest around the smaller mech’s frame as he picked up his datapad once more – though, admittedly, he hadn’t turned it on. He was still more attentive to Deadlock for the moment.

 

“Has our guest caused you any trouble?”

 

Spoken in that neutral tone, the question might have seemed unrelated, had he not just spent the last few minutes inspecting Deadlock’s repairs. Deadlock knew how shrewd Megatron was, though; he wasn’t really trying to cover up, he just wanted  _this_  – snuggled into Megatron’s chassis, both content and smug – and not much else. And the smugness he definitely got, as Megatron continued to trace the welds on his shoulder, sending those waves of not-pleasure not-pain through his frame, and asking him if Tarn had been a bother.

 

Given it had only been a few hours, his frame remembered vividly – Tarn’s hand digging in cruelly where Megatron’s now gave a soothing touch, Tarn’s spike hot and demanding inside of him, the mech’s jealous rage born of something as simple as this quiet moment. Deadlock hummed softly, shifting himself more comfortably in Megatron’s lap. “Nothing I can’t handle,” he murmured, a smirk curling his lips.

 

Given the way he was curled upon Megatron’s lap and pressed to his chestplate, Deadlock  _felt_  more than saw the  _look_  Megatron gave him… but he knew Megatron well enough to know what it looked like. Still, he said nothing further, and turned his datapad back on.

 

Deadlock was content with that as well, already turning a bit to get back to reading along with Megatron’s work. Tarn was so easily put out of both their minds, and that, more than anything, would surely enrage the mech the most.

 

Deadlock felt he must have grinned the whole way through, even after he fell into recharge and Megatron gently laid him in a more comfortable position to rest.


	10. 11/11/2017

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lots of Megatron/Drift centered stuff bc what else am I supposed to write between wips? Heh
> 
> Two cuddly things, and one very, very silly thing inspired by a post I found on tumblr and the ensuing conversation with friends

(1)  
Deadlock lingered near, but at a noncommittal distance. Within Megatron’s reach, but not close at hand like he might usually be. Somehow, that was more distracting than when he sidled close, his field playing a sharp, warm undercurrent to Megatron’s own. 

They were alone, so he wasn’t sure why Deadlock was at a… “polite” distance. The mech even kept glancing sidelong at him. Since he couldn’t focus on the datapad in his hand, Megatron had plenty of time to observe this.

Finally, he sighed and reached out for the smaller bot, not even speaking a word. Deadlock startled, but he didn’t show any resistance to Megatron scooping him into his lap with one arm. Instead, he was surprisingly compliant as Megatron gently arranged him most comfortably for them both.

And with that, he settled, not showing any hint of remark or protest.

Megatron grunted as he powered the datapad back on. “Was that all you wanted?” he remarked. 

Deadlock just shrugged.

 

(2)  
He was dozing, just this side of consciousness. The soft coil of their EM fields twined together, just as soothing as the warmth of Megatron’s large frame, or the solidness of it against his own. Deadlock hummed. It was the most unguarded he got, and it was part of the draw.

The way Megatron absently stroked his plating was also nice. Relaxing.

When it paused just for a moment, Deadlock almost cracked an optic open, but suddenly he felt Megatron leaning in, and a gentle, quick kiss to his nose.

Deadlock pinched his features, actually peeking an optic open. Megatron seemed only amused by his pouting and swooped in to press another two quick kisses to the tip of his nose. 

The smaller bot let out a half-hearted growl, huffing — but overall he hardly even made the first move from his spot curled up in Megatron’s lap. He sighed as Megatron chuckled softly. “Why do you do that?” Deadlock groused.

Megatron smiled, if briefly. “It’s irresistible.” 

Deadlock huffed and buried his face against Megatron’s broad chestplate. 

Megatron snorted again. “Go to sleep, Drift,” he murmured.

Deadlock didn’t argue with that. 

 

(3)  
After retaking the ship, getting everything together, settled, and ordered to Magnus’s satisfaction — well, mostly — had taken the most work. But they’d managed it in the end. Drift had skipped several recharge cycles, but nothing serious. Nothing like what they’d been through at the hands of the DJD, or in that parallel Functionist universe.

Just a little sleepiness and running on high-octane fuel spiced with the undeniable excitement of being home. At last. All he had to do was get through one more staff meeting and he could sleep in his own hab suite.

Primus, what a thought.

For a long moment, he didn’t even realize he was tuning out the conversation around him. He was staring through his datapad, unseeing, thinking about his old berth while the background rumbling of Magnus and Megatron establishing their status and next steps provided an almost soothing backdrop to it all. Drift could fall asleep listening to either of them talk — not in insult of subject matter, but just in how soothing the bassy parts of their tones. Lulling.

In other words, he was absolutely not paying attention. 

And, Primus help him, that was his only excuse. That, and the basest of instinctual responses. Because when he was clearly tired and zoned out was when his name was called. By Megatron. And without a single thought, without even looking up from his non-visual on his datapad, he murmured:

“Yes, my lord?”

It rolled off his glossa so naturally that with his processors so fogged with fatigue, he really had no clue what he’d said, or that it was in any way inappropriate until awareness dripped in little by little, his field prickling oddly, until he realized —

The entire room was quiet. Not just quiet, but shocked silent, and all optics were on him. 

Drift blinked, lowering his datapad. “What?”

No one seemed able to find the words to answer him, but Drift was already replaying the last few moments, a flush overtaking nearly his entire frame as he realized. 

Drift rubbed the bridge of his nose, determinedly looking anywhere that wasn’t at Megatron or Magnus. “Listen — ”

“To what?” Drift pursed his lips; Rodimus was the last mech whose optics he wanted to meet, but given his other options, he had no choice. And when he glanced over, clutching his datapad too tight in his hand, he was not particularly surprised to find that Rodimus was obviously holding back laughter. And yet his plating still itched as though it longed to crawl off his frame. 

“Rodimus... “ Drift said, frowning. The other mech burst into what could only be described as giggles, and Drift sighed. “If that’s all, then — ”

Rodimus flapped a hand at him. “No, no, I just have a question.” 

Again, very pointedly not looking at anyone else, Drift crossed his arms. “I haven’t recharged properly in weeks — and not at all this past week, so I hope you’ll forgive — ”

Rodimus interrupted him again with a loud pfffft. “No, no. I just want to know…” He leaned forward, optics aglow, an impish grin plastered to his face, and acting as though his stage whisper was at all quiet or private. “Did he make you call him that when you were fr— ”

The screen of the datapad cracked under Drift’s grip as he clenched his fists. “Rodimus!” he hissed. His features were blazing hot and, unfortunately, it was showing in his field.

With Rodimus cackling, however, the rest of them seemed to finally come unfrozen. Magnus was booming something about conventions of propriety, and Rodimus, truthfully, seemed to be trying to get more of a rise out of Megatron than anything, because now they were arguing as well. Rather than the soothing tones from before, this was sheer chaos.

A good moment for escape, then. 

Drift dropped the remains of the datapad on the table and slipped to the door — practically escaping notice. But, of course, he had to take one look back as he slipped out of the conference room, and by chance he caught and held Megatron’s gaze for just a moment.

His spark whirred strangely in his chassis, but he was more interested in leaving the room than interpreting what that unreadable gaze, or the strange reaction in himself, meant. 

By the Guiding Hand, he was going to recharge for at least a week. If not for exhaustion, then definitely to avoid all three of them for as long as possible.


	11. 7/15/2018

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> [1] Drift/Megatron (off-screen NSFW)  
> [2] Drift/Ratchet

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> it's been a while so i jotted out a couple of quick things last night to make sure i still knew how to even words

[1]

 

The room was dim and still smelled of ozone and heated metal, so Drift felt fine about relaxing against Megatron's hip. He thought less about the heat dissipating from his equipment and the fluid on his thighs in favor of watching him. When Megatron got inspired, it was fun to watch… particularly when it was in the afterglow of a  _ very _ good interface. He smiled. He couldn’t read fast enough yet to keep up with Megatron’s hand, but he always felt smug, knowing when Megatron wrote about them or their encounters…

 

Megatron paused, lifting a hand to gently pet over his helm. “Surely there’s a more comfortable way to sleep,” he said softly.

 

“Mm, I’m not sleeping yet,” Drift murmured. Megatron traced his fingertips up one of his finials, chuckling as the mech relaxed even more and shuttered his optics.

 

“I give you another five minutes of wakefulness at this rate.”

 

Drift grunted. “Didn’t wanna get in your way,” he muttered against Megatron’s plating.

 

Drift heard the soft clatter of datapad and stylus being set aside but didn’t twitch, but when Megatron curled his arms beneath his frame and lifted him into his lap he did peer his optics open. He let out another content murmur as Megatron kissed the top of his helm. “Let me worry about that,” he remarked, picking up his work again.

 

Drift sighed as he settled closer against Megatron’s chestplate.

  
  


[2] 

 

There wasn’t a lot of room to move around on board the shuttle, but Ratchet still managed to keep himself busy. After several supplying trips at various space ports, he’d put together a medical cart of sorts. Retiring had apparently done nothing for his desire to be prepared… or to patch even the smallest of injuries on Drift’s frame.

 

Drift had been reading, and normally he was better at deflecting where his attention  _ actually _ was — but in some distant corner of his mind, he was aware that he’d stretched out on his front, the datapad held loosely in his hands as he very obviously tracked Ratchet’s every motion with his gaze.

 

_ That _ wasn’t a new activity, but he was particularly entranced by the frame upgrades. Drift was still getting used to his own as well, but he didn’t exactly have mirrors to get distracted by, and — 

 

The clearing of a vocalizer broke him out of his thoughts; Drift’s gaze flicked up to Ratchet, who had an optic ridge quirked at him. “What’s with all the attention?”

 

Scrap!

 

Drift bit his lower lip, but he smirked before he replied: “Your aura is very nice today.”

 

His smirk only broadened into a grin as Ratchet scoffed and rolled his optics. “Oh please,” he muttered. That might have been the end of it, if Ratchet hadn’t shot him a sly, sideways look. “You’re sure it was my  _ aura _ you were checking out?”

 

Drift rested his chin in his hands. “Of course! What do you  _ propose _ I was looking at?” 

 

Ratchet snorted as he went back to sorting the latest acquisitions into his cart. “Looked suspiciously like my aft.”

 

Drift snickered. “Projection!  _ You’re _ the one always looking at  _ my _ aft.”

 

Ratchet gave him another look, one that left Drift flushed as he felt the gaze track over all the curves and angles of his frame. “Yeah, but at least I’m honest about it.”

  
  
  


**Author's Note:**

> I made a new profile site at https://prowlish.carrd.co/# :')


End file.
